Being something of a multiple rosaries wearing, showy, enfant terrible myself, I was remarkably appreciative of all this sensual, tribalesque gypsy rock coming out of the post-punk, goth, and new romantic subcultures, that was all coalescing in all those chilly, painfully loud, pitch dark nightclubs full of provocatively attired, dysfunctional gloomsters, who all convened to revel in their symbolic otherness-in a permissive atmosphere of enticingly gauzy somnolence, and droning drum machines. All the creamy white, witchy chicks redolent of incense oils and patchouli, whom I wanted to sleep with, were digging stuff like Fra Lippo Lippi, the Cocteau Twins, Current 93, “Everyday Is Halloween”-era Ministry, Soft Cell, Echo & The Bunnymen, and Gene Loves Jezebel. One of the Aston twins looked just like Nina Hagen, and the other, like Lene Lovitch in that old “Don’t Kill The Animals” video. ‘First time I remember hearin’ about the Jezzers was in NYC in ’85 or so, back when they looked like Haysi Fantaysi, or Strawberry Switchblade, or early Culture Club on all their Jackson Pollack influenced album covers for “Promise”, and “Bruises”, and “Immigrant”. Not even that many all-too-grown-up-now CHICKS will own up to having once been ardently enthusiastic fans of Gene Loves Jezebel, at this point – but me, I’m already on public record as a shameless, diehard fan of everything from Dead Or Alive to Dexy’s Midnite Runners, so here goes my scarve-y stroll down memory lane once again.
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